That's Not Fayre!
by SnazzinessRules
Summary: Slightly bonkers Christmas pea fic. Ruth/Harry
1. Chapter 1

_**Authors' note: You may have read a previous fic by the Crazy Peas called "Its Beginning to look a lot like Christmas"; this is kind of the alternative version. It isn't a sequel; it just draws on the same (made up) principle in order for us to indulge in crazy festive Spookery and RHness!**_

_**Set (roughly) in a fictional S5.**_

_**Also, as with all pea fics, we tend to get carried away so this will probably last well into the New Year!**_

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**That's Not Fayre!**

Harry's face as they walked into the briefing said it all; this morning, as so often was the case, there was bad news to share. Adam took his seat first, followed soon after by Zaf and Malcolm, and a bickering Jo and Ros. Ruth, unusually, was last to join them, slipping in quietly just as Harry was clearing his throat to begin.

There was a collective pause in their breathing as they waited for what he would say. It was a familiar routine, played out several times a week: pause, breathe, think, digest, speak.

"As you know," he began, seriously, yet with a weariness that puzzled the assembled team around him, "there are certain duties that the service has to perform which we would prefer not to have within our remit."

"Christ, who are we babysitting now?" Zaf mumbled, non-too-quietly.

"Nobody," he sighed. "That would be comparatively enjoyable."

"Well?" asked Ros, pointedly.

"Christmas Fayre."

There was a series of confused looks shared out from one person to the next, until Malcolm finally broke the bewilderment with an explanation.

"The council, councils, actually. Every year London Borough Councils attempt to organise something approaching a collective event, incorporating the best each of the boroughs has to offer for the Christmas festivities – I say attempt as more often that not the whole thing is a farcical round of bickering and one-upmanship between different authorities and…"

"Malcolm," Adam interrupted, in order to refocus him.

"Sorry, yes…anyway, given that your standard occupation, i.e. the one you state when not operating under a specific legend, is a council related job, we have to have people at the council who will vouch for all of you should someone ask. They have to have false employment records, wages, disciplinary files, targets and minutes of meetings all with your details included, just in case. They don't ask for much in return – they don't have much choice – but every year, they ask for some input into the local festivities, and so each year, one section is drawn from a hat to help out."

"I needn't ask who got drawn out then," Ros practically snarled. "What do they want, a round of Merry Christmas Everyone?"

"Actually, they want us to provide some stalls. They're aiming to run an entire fayre; games, choirs, mini plays, craft and food."

Ros winced, visibly. "If you're going to ask me to sell Christmas doilies and gold candles…" Her sentence seemed to truncate itself at the surprise feel of Malcolm's calming hand against her arm. Slowly, she relaxed the death grip on her biro and let out a slow breath, although her grimace remained fixed in place.

"Well, I'm sure there are other stalls you could do. They've provided quite a list." At this, Harry slid a garishly green sheet of paper across the table, only for Zaf to snatch at it first.

"Oooooo, me and you on Splat the Rat, mate," he declared, scribbling _Zaf and Adam_ next to the bullet point before his friend could argue against the idea.

"Gimmie," beckoned Jo, leaning across the table and flailing her arm in the direction of the sheet. "I wanna see what else is on there."

The page fluttered towards her after a shove from Zaf.

"Oh, Hook a Duck! I used to love that game! Oh, and a kissing booth!"

Ros felt herself all but ready to explode.

"Kissing Booth?" asked Zaf, interest piqued. "I missed that…" He got up and walked around behind Jo as if to verify the information.

"Yup."

"Pen," he commanded, quietly, and was presented with a glittery pink biro. "Adam, you're doing Splat the Rat with Wes, now. I've got a much better job; look out London!"

"Dear God," Harry muttered wiping a weary hand over his face as he realised that his highly trained officers had suddenly reverted to being adolescents.

"Someone's obviously grumpy I nicked the top job first," Zaf announced, laughing.

"I don't care what stalls any of you do," Harry ground out as he stood to leave, "what I do care about, Mr Younis, is that this passes as painlessly as possible. One complaint of anything untoward and you're for it, understand?"

"Understood," Zaf said, happily, refusing to be threatened into submission. He was definitely going to enjoy this gig and, if he played his cards right, he might even get a date or two out of it.

"Malcolm, Ros, Ruth, pick your stalls out and return the list to me," he ordered and walked out of the door.

---

"What have you picked?" Harry asked, later, as Ruth hovered in his office with the completed list in her hand.

"Jams and Preserves," she answered with little enthusiasm. "Malcolm wanted to do it but said he needed a hand and Ros refused point blank so that left me," she added at his inquisitive look.

"You didn't want to be on that stall?"

"Not really. It all has to be home made! I've never made jam and now I have three days to learn how to do it."

"So buy some from somewhere and change the labels to make it look homemade."

"I can't do that! That'd be cheating!" she said, indignantly, "What would Malcolm say if he knew?"

He smiled at her and tried to control his urge to tell her that she was being completely adorable. "Then I'd say it's a good thing you're a fast learner."

"You're no help," she grumbled, affectionately, earning herself a warm chuckle. "What are you doing then?"

"Supervising." Her laugh was unexpected but it warmed him to his soul to see her so unguarded and happy in his presence.

"Problem?" he asked, amused.

"No, no. Not at all," she spluttered, "just that for _supervising_ I expect I should read _avoiding having a stall of your own_. No?"

"The mere insinuation is appalling, Ruth," he smiled, raising his eyebrows.

"Then what should I read?"

"Well, in fairness, Zaf let loose on a kissing booth probably does require some supervision."

Ruth laughed, loudly. "Now that I'll let you off for. They might never ask us back again if you leave him to run wild."

Harry grinned, cheekily, "Well, on second thoughts…"

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**_If you'd like the madness to continue then please let us know you enjoyed it!_**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for last chapter's reviews guys (and some of you know us peas rather well, as you'll later see) :) Hope you all had a great Christmas!**

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It was late afternoon, three days later, when they arrived at a large and imposing town hall in the East of London. The winter sun had dimmed to orange along the horizon and a shimmering of frost had already settled on the pavements. Ruth watched, idly, as Malcolm and Zaf carried in an assortment of her jams and tableware to dress the stall with, and Adam and Wes hauled a large drainpipe, a mallet and sock-rat through the large wooden doors. Jo, with her inflatable paddling pool and _pink_ rubber ducks, had already rushed inside enthusiastically.

"What did you pick in the end?" she asked Ros, noting that whatever it was, it didn't require anything to be brought with them.

"Bottle tombola," she replied, which something approaching a smile. "The lesser of any of the evils."

"You do know they're prizes, not compensatory rewards for you having to stand there all evening, don't you?" chirped in Zaf, who had arrived to stock his arms with another box of preserves.

Ros muttered something which sounded decidedly dangerous and, as Malcolm carefully shepherded him away, Zaf had common sense enough not to ask for it to be repeated.

**

"How much jam did you make, Ruth?" Zaf groaned as they finally all arrived inside and he unceremoniously dumped the last of the boxes on the rickety old decorator's table, trimmed with lacy table cloth.

"As much as I had time to," she answered, distractedly, as she peered inside the boxes and began pulling the jars out.

"By that logic, you shouldn't have had time to make anything. You've not left the Grid before ten any night this week."

Ruth gripped the edge of the box tightly between her fingers and studiously avoided the younger man's gaze. "You have to _make_ time, Zaf."

"Quite right," boomed Harry's authoritative voice as he appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

"Jeez, Harry! Any stealthier and we'll have to get you a collar with a bell!"

Distinctly unimpressed, Harry gave him a glare. "Perhaps you should go and sort out your own stall, Zafar."

"Nothing to it. All I have to do is pucker up and let the ladies fight over me!" he said, grinning as he wiggled his eyebrows at Ruth.

"You're enjoying this _far_ too much," Ruth said, shaking her head at him.

"What are you enjoying?" enquired Malcolm, warily, arriving halfway through the conversation.

"Ruth's jam, of course," Zaf lied, smoothly.

"Oh, I don't think you should be sampling it before the fayre opens," he replied, seriously.

"Not to worry, Malcolm, I was only asking for the recipe." At Malcolm's incredulous look, he hastily added, "for my mum, she loves recipes. Ruth is a little reluctant to share her trade secrets though." He winked, rather knowingly, at Ruth.

"Is she!?" He turned to face Ruth. "Don't be shy, Ruth, I'd like to know, too."

Blushing and under an inordinate amount of pressure, she fumbled through her memory and tried to think of something to say. "Er, well, erm, I erm, … I, erm, got the fruit a-and boiled it…with some sugar…and that's about it, really…."

"How long for?" asked Malcolm, and Ruth got the distinct impression she was about to get rumbled.

"Hours," Harry said, gruffly, back from his venture to rescue Jo – or more likely the rest of the assembled group – from flooding the town hall. "But it tasted lovely in the end."

"You helped!?" Malcolm asked, incredulously.

Harry nodded in what he hoped was an affirmative manner. "Oh yes, we were all sticky and smothered in jam in no time."

The startled coughing to his left caught his attention and he turned to see Ruth spluttering madly and looking at him as if he'd gone mad.

"No wonder you _made_ time for the jam, then," Zaf smirked, and then turned to leave before he was ordered to.

"I didn't…! That's not…!" Harry started and then trailed off. Ruth was still wide-eyed and beetroot-red and Malcolm looked like he'd swallowed his own tongue.

"Malcolm!" Harry commanded, loudly. "Would you be so kind as to get Ruth a drink?"

Malcolm nodded and scurried off, glad of the excuse to leave.

"Sorry," Harry murmured, eventually, as they both stood looking at one another.

"No, no, I'm grateful to you for saving me…" she rambled, finding it easiest to address the spot to the left of his head. "It wasn't perhaps of the most innocent of remarks but it certainly shifted attention away from my misdemeanours."

"God knows what I was thinking to come out with that," he moaned and, upon hearing her small squeak, realised he'd put his foot in it again. "No! No! I didn't mean…I didn't mean I was thinking about _that_. With you. Not that…it wouldn't be a nice thought…but…erm…I'm making it worse, aren't I?"

She nodded, slowly, incapable of anything else. It quite possible ranked as their oddest and yet most illuminating discussion to date.

"Perhaps I should go and supervise, over there," Harry mumbled, bashfully.

**

"Uncle Harry, Uncle Harry!" Wes cried, as Harry sauntered over to their stall, which was now all set up and ready to go as soon as the punters were let in. "Have you come to have a go?"

Harry looked at the drainpipe creation rather awkwardly, obviously unfamiliar with Splat the Rat.

"Well, er, actually I was just coming to check how your dad and Jo were getting on." He looked to his left, to Jo's stall, where she gave him a big thumbs up and waved a pink duck.

"Oh pleeeeeeeeease, Uncle Harry!"

"What's the rules then?"

"Rules?" asked Wes, as if that was a daft question. "You just have to hit the rat."

"Oh, right."

Wes handed him with a bat, as if Harry had confirmed his willingness to participate and Adam grinned as he released the sock-rat down the drain.

"Too slow! Haha!" cheered Wes, ungraciously. "You have to be faster Uncle Harry."

"You didn't give me warning," he said, good-naturedly, but not without a glare in Adam's direction.

"Try again," said Jo, wandering over.

Harry raised the mallet and gave Adam a nod to signal he was ready.

"Three, two, one…"

The rat shot out of the tube faster than Harry could hit it, much to his chagrin.

"Here," said Jo, taking the mallet. Adam dropped the rat again and Jo hit it with perfect precision.

Harry simply growled, loudly.

"Haha," said Wes. "You got beaten by a girl!"

"You'd do well never to underestimate women, Wesley," Harry said, wisely, before turning his back, and leaving the three of them to it.

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**Thanks for reading! Please review :)**

**Happy New Year to you, too!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks again for the support :) Hope you all had a lovely New Year!**  


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By half past six everything looked set to go. Daniel did a final sweep of the hall checking things off a long list as he went.

He clapped his hands together and waited, pompously, for everyone to quieten down and give him their undivided attention. "Right everyone, places please."

There was a ripple of excitement as, eventually, the doors opened and a flood of hyped up children, along with a few high-spirited parents, rushed in. Malcolm and Ruth visibly winced at the sudden increase in volume as they looked on in alarm at the factions of children pushing and shoving one another at the cake stall.

"Brace yourselves," warned Harry, sagely, who had just reappeared after his slightly humiliating defeat at splat the rat.

"I'd forgotten how busy these things get," Ruth confided, as she turned to see Harry stood behind her. She gave him a small smile and was pleased to see he returned it without hesitation. In his absence, she had decided that it was probably for the best to just try and pretend their earlier conversation hadn't happened.

"It'll get even worse when they've stuffed their faces with cakes and sweets and are dosed up on sugar," he said, grimly.

"Cheerful soul, aren't you?" she teased, eyes twinkling.

"You'll see," he replied, smirking slightly.

"Shouldn't you be supervising, Harry?" she asked, pointedly, as he continued to gaze at her softly.

"Shouldn't you be helping Malcolm?" he countered and took perverse pleasure in the blush that stained her cheeks as she realised she was no better than him.

Flustered, she reached a hand up to her necklace and fiddled with the beads she found there. "Yes, yes I should a-and you should..."

"Go and fetch some mince pies. Excellent idea," he said with a wink, "I'll be back soon."

--

Fifty minutes. Fifty minutes of inane tinsel covered, santa-hat-wearing, innumerate punters asking if they'd won a prize. That was how long she'd managed to grin and bear the insanely busy bottle tombola before the last thread of self control snapped. Now, some ten minutes later, Ros, professional officer of several year's standing, was surreptitiously drinking a third bottle from the prize stock, just to get through the evening.

"Give us a tipple," muttered a voice from behind her.

Her blood momentarily ran cold at the thought she'd been caught out, before she composed herself and smiled sweetly.

"I'm not drinking, Adam."

"No, of course not," he winked, "and likewise I'm not encouraging you to open any more prizes but…" Ros arched an eyebrow. "But if one more parent thinks it's funny to let their child hit me with the inflatable hammer they've won, then so help me, I'll…"

"Take your pick," she hissed, quietly, "just hurry up about it before someone sees.

Adam smiled graciously and lifted a miniature vodka from the stand. "Cheers! To not drinking." He winked, raised the bottle, and disappeared.

"Five please," said a monotonous voice as she turned around. The man looked as though he had all the charm, personality and hygiene of a wet fish.

"Your ticket number has to end in a five or zero to win," she told him, giving the tombola drum a whirl.

He reached inside and grabbed his tickets, unfurling them one by one. "Is this one," he asked, showing a 24.

"Five or zero, no." Great, another innumerate one.

"This?" He held up a 39.

"Five or zero," she spat.

He held up his remaining three tickets until her glare made him drop his hand.

"No?"

"No!" she seethed, madly, and waited for him to scuttle away and reveal the next person in line.

"Just one," announced a rather prim, upright woman, who didn't look like she had ever visited a fayre before or, indeed, any social gathering that didn't require a large hat and a cut-glass accent.

She fished her hand about in the barrel as though committing something distasteful and promptly pulled out a winning ticket.

Smugly, she waved it under Ros's nose and held out an expectant hand.

Ros looked from the lady to the prizes and back.

"Prize." The woman pointed at the bottles and clicked her fingers.

"Yes," said Ros, as if talking to a three year old. "Those are the prizes and you haven't won one."

"It says," observed the pushy woman with the pointy finger, " that any ticket with a five or a zero wins a prize…and my ticket is 65!"

"Well clearly," countered Ros trying her best to enunciate properly after copious amounts of alcohol, "you can see the prizes behind me and the lack of a bottle with 65 on it."

"The stall is fraudulent!"

"Excuse me?"

"It's a con!" The woman was beginning to jab her finger further and further into Ros's personal space. "Taking people's money and failing to deliver."

Ros squared her shoulders as levelly as she could after drinking so many prizes. "You," she announced, "need to get a grip. It was only 20p."

"_You_ need to get prizes."

"Oh piss off."

The woman made a sudden dive for another prize and Ros grabbed the bottle at the same moment. Within seconds, she was practically nose to nose with this new nemesis.

"Drop. It. Now," she whispered, quietly. Her hands turned around the neck of the bottle as if to free it. "Drop it, sweetheart, smile and leave." She turned the bottle again, her nails _accidentally_ digging into pushy lady's hand until she hissed and let go.

"Thanks for visiting the bottle tombola," Ros called, cheerfully, in the wake of the stroppy, stomping figure. "Do come back and play again."

"Ah, just the kind of festive cheer and hospitality we like to hear," came an enthusiastic voice; its owner was obviously oblivious to the past ten minute's debacle.

"Daniel," Ros nodded, courteously. Daniel was the man tasked with overseeing the event and had already demonstrated, several times, how full of his own self-importance he was.

"Can't stop, Rosalind," he smiled, and she could feel her skin crawl, "I'm off to go and sample some homemade preserves."

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**Please review :) xx**


	4. Chapter 4

**Oh look, an update! At this rate we might get it finished before next Christmas ;-)**

**Thanks to everyone still reading.**

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"Mince pie?" Harry offered as he bit into the sweet pastry in his hand. He'd returned from the cake stall twenty minutes previously and had taken up his 'supervising' post behind the preserves stall next to Ruth, much to her delight and Malcolm's annoyance. The quiet techie had finally had enough and had left them to it ten minutes previously mumbling something about 'too many cooks' and giving Harry a slightly mutinous look as he stalked off.

"No thanks," she said with a disapproving look as he shrugged and bit into the Christmas treat.

"What?" he questioned around his mouthful of mince pie.

She fiddled nervously with the jars laid out on the table in front of her keen to avoid his gaze as she replied. "I'm just not sure it's a good idea for you to eat any more of those. Not with your cholesterol."

"I've only had two!" he lied, only to be automatically corrected by her.

"Three." She finally looked at him and pointed to the half eaten pie still in his hand..."...and a bit."

"I didn't realise you'd been watching that closely," he admitted, sheepishly, and had the good grace to put the offending pie down and out of his reach.

"I'm always watching!" she teased and tried to avoid his gaze as he questioned exactly what that meant.

"I'll bear that in mind," he murmured, softly, watching as she flustered herself.

"You look like you're working very hard," commented Daniel, sarcastically, as he approached Harry.

"Supervising," he clarified. "Best spot to scope things out."

Daniel gave a small roll of his eyes and muttered something about spies.

"What was that?"

"Mince pies," Daniel said. "I was saying how nice they were. Have you supervised the preserves? Any recommendations? I'm rather partial to jams, too."

"Strawberry," mumbled Harry, distractedly, his mind flashing to the image that had haunted him all day now; Ruth, smothered in delicious, red, sticky jam.

Daniel nodded and moved off to wangle himself a free sample, leaving Harry to his thoughts.

---

"Hello, Gorgeous," Zaf purred as he winked at the petite brunette at the front of the queue, "how many kisses can I tempt you in to?"

He smiled as she giggled and batted her eyelashes at him. "Just the one for now," she murmured as she placed her hand on the stall and pushed a £5 note wrapped in a piece of paper towards him, "but I'm sure you could tempt me in to much more..."

Noticing the phone number scribbled on the scrap of paper Zaf gave his new friend a winning smile and slid her number into his pocket. "How about a buy one, get one free," he murmured and then proceeded to give her a rather thorough kiss which was closely followed by a second. "I love my job," he sighed as they pulled apart and he watched her walk away.

"I'm fairly certain hitting on the customers was _not_ part of the job description."

"Just an added bonus," Zaf grinned at his boss unrepentantly.

"Zaf," Harry said warningly and the younger man instantly schooled his face in to an expression of contrition.

"I know, I know," he held his palms up to placate the older man, "I'm on my best behaviour, I swear."

"That's what worries me," Harry said under his breath. He fixed Zaf with a glare, "Just don't do anything that's likely to get us all sued, or-"

"Harry!" The man in question looked startled as a flustered Malcolm pushed his way to the front of the queue and announced, rather breathlessly, "Harry, I think you'd better come over to the bottle tombola."

"Isn't that Ros's stand?"

"Yes." Malcolm balked a little at Harry's raised eyebrow and wondered about the best way to announce that Ros was drunk and insulting all her customers. "She, uh, you'd better come and see to her Harry before she maims someone for not knowing the rules of the tombola."

Glowering and with a distinct feeling of unease in his stomach Harry silently followed Malcolm, leaving Zaf to his own devices.

---

At first glances everything appeared normal but as they approached the small stall they were just in time to see Ros lean over the small table menacingly as she growled at a greasy haired teenage boy making him pale before he turned and fled.

"Is everyone at this bloody fayre a moron?" she asked aloud.

"Not everyone," Harry said sharply, fixing her with a stare when she looked at him unconcerned.

"Come to play, Harry?" Her sweet smile and faux cheerfulness did little to appease him.

"Ros," he growled, warningly, and she had the foresight to keep her mouth shut. He took in the few remaining bottles and quickly made a decision. "Go and sit with Malcolm on the jams and preserves-"

"On them?" she asked, amused, "wouldn't that be a bit messy?"

"Ros-"

Malcolm interceded before matters could be made worse and gently grasped Ros's elbow, leading her away from their irate boss. "Come on, I've some coffee in a thermos behind the stall."

Harry watched them go and shook his head in disbelief. He wondered, momentarily, whether he had rather return to Zaf and keep tabs on the rather boisterous and flirtatious officer, but quickly decided ignorance was bliss and instead assigned himself the task of closing down the remains of the disastrous tombola.

--

"Ruth," Zaf smiled, as she approached the side of his stall, later that evening. He paused from his busy workload to draw her in to conversation. "Where's Harry?" His chocolate eyes darted about nervously.

"Er, I don't know. Why?"

"Just wondered," he replied, not particularly wanting to confess to being told off.

"Well, why do you think I'd know where he was?" she asked, with genuine innocence.

Zaf rolled his eyes. It wasn't even worth explaining. "So," he started, changing the subject, "how are the jams?"

"Interesting now Ros is sitting at the stall," she smiled. "Why do you think I've taken myself a walk?"

"Huh," Zaf sighed, dramatically, "and I just thought you wanted to see me!" He winked for effect.

"Sorry, no," she smiled and then paused, delighting in the sight at the end of Zaf's queue. "But someone does…"

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**Ooooh, who could it be? Review to find out!**


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